


Kiss Me While I'm Crying

by Daephraelle



Series: Altered States [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daephraelle/pseuds/Daephraelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That shot to the head has left the Courier with scars deeper than the physical. While wandering the wasteland, she finds herself desperate for a man, any man to touch her with increasing frequency, even when the man in question is someone she normally wouldn't share a cup of coffee with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me While I'm Crying

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fallout Kink Meme

Her head was ringing like a bell... ‘ _ring a ding ding, baby_ ’... but she forced herself to keep moving, forced herself to keep her meagre breakfast down, keep her legs moving, keep her hands from shaking.

She tasted bile in her mouth amongst other, more incriminating tastes as she stumbled off the Strip and into Freeside, towards her meeting with The King.

‘ _You’re one twisted broad but Benny can swing that way, baby – I ain’t all vanilla_ ’...

It was no good; she stumbled over the shattered remains of the road and emptied her stomach onto the sickly weeds that twisted out between the cracks in the concrete. She could feel the gritty road against the soft flesh of her palms and all she wanted to do was sand away her skin until she bled.

That particular spot on her head was throbbing madly and the courier could feel the ghost of fingers brushing over the shallow dent near her hairline... ‘ _It’s a crying shame, pussycat. Such platinum looks – yeah, a real shame you got caught up in this_ ’... She’d shake her head to chase away the memory but the world was already spinning and The King was waiting for her in the cool oasis of his headquarters.

When she finally reached the glowing neon lights of the school, her whole world was made up of black spots, sliding back and forth like ink over glass. She knew she’d reached the door because someone was holding her up, all black and white bars and the smell of pomade.

_Light...  
Dark...  
Light...  
Silence..._

And then a blessed coolness across her forehead and she was lost to sensation.

 

_There’s a burning in her body, in her head and she needs to feel bare skin against her own more that she needs air. She keeps flexing her fingers against her sides as she waits for him to notice her. She should have waited for this to pass, met with The King first and then slept this off. Of all the people to get close to in this condition..._

_He’s seen her, she can tell by the way he tenses, ever so slightly and the subtle flicker of his hand towards Maria. How many people have prayed to that Lady to spare them?_

_She digs her nails deep into her palms, willing herself to keep her anger, her rage at the forefront, as he makes his way over. But the way he walks, his dark hair and darker eyes – ‘sex on a stick’ her mother would have said and the courier is already hungry enough to eat radroach scraps.  
This man is a feast. _

_There are words exchanged between them, looks – he can tell that the heat in her eyes isn’t for vengeance and that gentle dip near her temple warrants further examination._

_Corridors, elevators, more corridors and then they are alone in his room. Words are beyond her now and the floor is good enough for what she needs._

_She doesn’t even let him take his jacket off.  
He’s flat on the floor beneath her, speaking sweet clichés and she’s ripping down his trousers, shucking her own dusty leather and armour and wrapping herself over him, around him. He runs hot – his skin burns like the Mojave sands and she burns with him, running her hands through his hair, under his jacket to feel the hard muscles of his chest, down his torso to where he stands, dark and heavy. She moans and he takes it as a cue, rolling her over and sliding inside her in one strong movement. She cries out, she can’t help it and he buries his head between her breasts as she arches back and wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper into herself, her hands fisting in the cheap, chequered polyester across his back. _

_He’s stopped murmuring his tired lines, all of his focus on the rhythm he’s building up as he rocks them back and forth over the grimy floor. His arms are braced against the ground for leverage, so it’s up to her to push back the lock of hair that has fallen across his face – she needs to see his expression, his need for her as their sweat mingles on their skin and his eyes lock with hers._

_There’s none of the Tops veneer there now and the chequered suit looks strange on him – he should be bare to the sun, not covered by clothes from a dead world.  
‘Take it off,’ she whispers and he leans back, kneeling to strip himself of jacket and shirt.  
She comes up to meet him, skin to skin and wraps her arms around his back, pulling him in towards her, inhaling the masculine scent of him before she runs her mouth across his chest, tasting him, feeling the warmth of him in her mouth as she feels the warmth of him begin to move inside her again, a slow, deep thrusting that isn’t enough anymore. _

_She sets the rhythm as he slings one arm around her waist, urging her on as the other fists in her hair, holding her head against the crook of his neck._

_The fire in her head is moving down, leaving a trail like warm honey until it pools in her belly and she can’t hold on any longer. She cries out, a guttural, primal sound and Benny follows her as she rides the wave, spilling himself inside her with a whispered prayer._

_She lies back on the floor and Benny follows – his heavy tanned hand lying like a brand over the pale curve of her breast._

_The fire’s gone, her scar aches and the man who shot her in the head is resting deep inside her. The shaking in her hands has already started and she needs to get out of here before her self-loathing immobilises her.  
She’s up and half-dressed before Benny thinks to ask where she’s going. The look she shoots him is enough to have him scanning the room for his gun and the courier is out the door before he has the chance to even think about finishing the job he started at Goodsprings. _

_The Strip, then Freeside, then darkness and she ends up back at the beginning again, lying on a soft bed, with a cool washcloth across her forehead and a faint burning heat at the back of her mind._

 

He had always looked sour but now he looked positively petulant, she thought as she opened her eyes to see Pacer leaning against the door of the room. She twisted slowly on the bed, trying to get her bearings. She was definitely in The King’s building but the bed she was laying on was huge and covered in gaudy, wine-coloured sheets.

Pacer sighed and threw himself away from the doorframe.

“He gave you his bed, seemed to think that he owed you that. _I_ got stuck with the pointless guard duty, so you can go right ahead and assume that you haven’t made any friends, getting in the way like this.”

The courier tried to ignore him and focused on sitting up without sending the world spinning. When the ceiling stayed above her and the floor below, she deemed it a success.

“How long have I been out?”

Pacer exhaled derisively, “Less than a day. The King thought you were dying, I could have told him all you needed to do was let whatever junkie shit you took leave your system,”

She looked at him sharply, “Such derision, coming from the man with the stash of  
Jet underneath his bed,”

Pacer shot forward, outrage and disbelief in his eyes. The courier cut him off before he could start.

“Anyway, I’m not on _anything_ , more’s the pity. God knows it might help stop these damn...” She sighed in resignation. “Is The King busy? I suppose we should get this meeting over and done with so I can get out of your perfectly coiffured hair,”

If looks could kill...

“We _will_ talk about your low-blow spying before I kick you outta here,” Pacer growled as he walked back to the door, “Well? Come on if you’re coming.”

The King was as concerned and solicitous as ever and the courier brushed off his questions over her health with a few gentle demurred words. Their business took less than an hour to resolve – The King had come to see the courier as a valuable ally in his struggle to bring stability to Freeside. The water was now flowing freely and the introduction of a small militia of Freesiders kept the thugs away and the streets safer.

By the time they were done, her head was swimming and that lurking heat was pushing forward, her scar catching fire like a wasteland tree in a lightning storm. She gave her farewells to the solemn King and stumbled out into the lobby.

A black-clad arm was wrapped around her own, pulling her back before she was even half way to the door.

“I told you, we’re gonna have _words_ before you slink outta here,”

Now was not the time – she need to lie down, to be alone in her own room at the Lucky 38 but the arm was pulling her away, back into the depths of the building, up the stairs and up again until they were alone in a dingy room.

“Hey, shut your face, we’re not all some old man’s whore. We don’t all get the goddamn Presidential Suit,”

She must have been talking out loud but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember moving her lips.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he said and pushed her roughly on to the bed.

She caught herself, barely and tried to focus on Pacer’s face above her.

Shoving his hands into his pockets he began to pace the room like a caged Yao Guai. If she didn’t hurt so much she would have giggled at his choice of movement. As it was, she was finding it hard to ignore the shivering tension that was beginning to wash over every inch of her skin.

Pacer halted mid-stride and turned to face her, bitter anger in his eyes, “Where the hell do you get off, searching through a man’s room, huh? It’s not bad enough that you waltz in here like you oughta own the joint, you start snooping into other people business, _my_ business,”

The courier lifted her head to lock gazes with him. Words. She should say something. Digging her nails into her skin she came close enough to the surface to start talking coherently.

“Look, you indescribably irritating _bastard_ , I did you a favour, alright? If it weren’t for me you’d probably be dead by now,”

Pacer scoffed but his expression darkened when she kept her eyes locked on his.

“People wanted you taken out and I was supposed to find a way to do it without causing suspicion. So I went looking. I found out about your ah, _reliance_ on Jet, your problems with the Van Graffs... your weak heart...”

Pacer’s eyes flickered and he turned away from her.

“I managed to convince them there was another way – that you didn’t need to be killed, that you weren’t all bad. Why I didn’t just take the chance to off your annoying ass when I had it I will never know,” she sighed.

He was looking petulant again but his hand betrayed him, rubbing his chest as though he could reach right through to his heart and hold it safe. He looked so... vulnerable and the courier felt a wash of heat rush down her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

No, not now, not here, not _him_.

“I... need to go, Pacer. Now. I’ll see you around,”

_Oh god, please don’t let me see him around_.

She went to stand and her legs went out from underneath her, dark arms reaching out to stop her fall.

He had caught her again – all black and white bars and the smell of pomade but this time she wasn’t blacking out, this time she was inhaling the scent of him, gripping his arms as though they were the only thing solid in the whole crappy world.

Her head nuzzled against his chest, the steady thrum of his heart and the heat of his body stripping her of her last vestiges of restraint.

“Please...”

He took it as an invitation.

Leather and cloth flying – if there had been any buttons they would have been flying too. Pacer was still supporting her weight, but now he had her up against one of the dingy walls, fumbling for the catch on her bra. She could feel him hard through the thin leather of his trousers and she ground herself firmly against him. He groaned in response and ripped off her bra, nuzzling her breasts and running his tongue over her nipples, pulling at them with his mouth as she threw her head back against the cracked plaster behind her. Reaching for his fly, the courier undid the zip and slid his trousers down to the floor. Bare skin to bare skin as she hooked a leg behind his knee, pulling him to her, her underwear all that was left between them. Pacer seemed content to focus on her breasts but the courier needed something more. She reached between them, grasping him in her hand and squeezing, letting her thumb play over the head. He didn’t need any more encouragement. Yanking down her panties, Pacer straightened and grabbed her thighs, pulling her up and wrapping her around his waist.

One hand on the wall, the other wrapped tightly around her back, he let her guide him into her body, sliding deeper and deeper until he was pressed up against her. Her legs were like a vice and her hands were messing up his carefully styled hair but her eyes were hooded and dark.

“Fuck me,” she said and Pacer forgot everything but the feel of her around him, tight and hot.

Shoving into her, he slammed them both against the wall before pulling out and pushing himself back inside her. Every thrust had the wall shaking and the courier was certain that the whole floor could hear them screwing. Running her hands down Pacer’s back and resting her hands against his butt, she could feel him flex beneath her touch every time he pushed into her. Their foreheads pressed together, his breath ghosted across her face, that moist warmth hitching whenever he found the deepest point he could reach inside of her.

His rhythm was starting to falter now, guttural grunts interspersing his breathing more and more. Her own body was starting to flush; she could feel herself beginning to heat with the oncoming flood of sensation. She moved her hands to his face, cradling it softly as she swiped a finger over his flushed lips, following it with a kiss, all tongues and bruising strength. He broke away, groaning as his hips took on a sharp, uneven rhythm.

“I can’t... Oh god, baby... I’m gonna come,”

The courier, eyes closed, nodded wordlessly against his head before he pushed inside her again and her body exploded in a jumbled spasm of pleasure, tensing around Pacer as he pushed into her once, twice before crying out as he buried himself to the hilt and came inside her in a rush of warmth.

Her body was still ticking over like a cooling engine as she placed her hands on Pacer’s shoulders and lifted herself off him and onto the floor. He remained where he was, bracketing her with his arms, his head hanging down as she ran a hand through his hair and rested it against the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t so bad this time, she thought. Her head wasn’t pounding and her hands were as steady as they ever were after sex. Perhaps...

“You should go,” he murmured, so quietly that the courier wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“Now you tell me,” she joked but it was a hollow sound in the dim room and the courier found herself staring at a corner of the ceiling.

Pacer dropped an arm to let her slip past, bringing it up to his chest to rub gently as the courier gathered the last of her clothes and padded quietly out the door.

She needed a bath and good meal of steak and Instamash, she thought as she stepped into the dusky light of Freeside. She needed to be clean and well fed but most of all right now, she needed to be alone. No companions to tempt her, no Benny to make her feel dirty, no Pacer to hold a hand to his chest while he looked at her with those unguarded eyes.  
Just alone.


End file.
